


Misperceptions

by orphan_account



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, M/M, Self-Doubt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-20
Updated: 2017-06-20
Packaged: 2018-11-16 15:09:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11255466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: First fanfic, please be nice and let me know about any errors/possible improvements. Thanks!





	Misperceptions

"You asked me to drop by, sir?"

Phil had sent him an email earlier with the request, but hadn't been in his office when Clint had shown up. He'd wandered the halls for a while, finally locating Phil in the senior staff break room.  
  
"Ah, Barton, perfect timing."  
  
Internally, Clint preened a little, though he certainly hadn't planned it.  
  
"This is your new handler, Jasper Sitwell," Phil continued, gesturing to the balding agent beside him. "You worked with him on that Burma op, if I remember correctly."  
  
Clint's joy coalesced into a ball of dread and confusion that pulsed behind his sternum.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Come with me, we'll have to fill out your transfer paperwork."  
  
Clint trailed behind him on the way back to Phil's office, trying to keep his emotions from showing on his face. Maybe he was overthinking? There could be a very good reason Phil was dropping him without warning.  
  
"You get promoted or something, boss?" He probed, trying for casual insouciance. Maybe he couldn't be a handler anymore. Maybe he was taking a leave of absence? Neither sounded like something Phil would want, but perhaps it was out of his hands.  
  
"I'd rather have this discussion in my office, if you don't mind."  
  
Clint gave a hum of agreement, trying to squash his panic. Had he done something wrong? He couldn't think of anything. Maybe it was the disagreement about the necessity of medical after the last op? Or the rigamarole Phil'd had to go through after Clint had punched that senior agent who'd thought a clearly unstable building was the perfect location for his sniper nest. The length of the trip to Phil's office seemed unbearably long all of a sudden, and Clint found himself perspiring slightly in fear of what awaited him there. He wiped his forehead with his hand.  
  
Phil opened the door and ushered him through. "I'll need your signature on the transfer paperwork, of course, and then I can file it. Here," he said shoving a few neatly filled out pages in Clint's direction across his desk. "I've marked the places you need to sign."  
  
Clint, shaken, dropped into a chair and obediently pulled the papers and accompanying pen toward him. Flipping to the first sticky note, he initialed the indicated space. He tried for small talk again. "You gonna tell me what this is about?" He asked, looking across the desk at his handler, who'd settled into his chair and clicked on his monitor.

Phil stilled. "Need to know, for now," he replied after a short pause.

Clearly there would be no answer from the steel trap that was Agent Coulson. When Clint got to the last line on the last page, he stopped. Was he really letting this happen? He stared at Phil's slanted signature beside the space for his own. Surely he could fix this. "Sir," he started, hands clenching, "I can do better, I swear."  
  
"What--?" Phil asked, staring at him, but Clint didn't give him time to continue.  
  
"Just -- just tell me what I'm doing wrong, I'll fix it, I swear. Is it the fighting?" He swallowed guiltily, and added "The late reports? I'll finish them, get them to you this afternoon, don't --" he flushed, wanting to curl up in a ball and disappear. "Don't send me away."  
  
Phil stared at him for a few seconds, then passed his hand over his face. "Finish the transfer paperwork, please, Agent Barton."

Clint could pick up on the notes of strain and guilt in the other man's voice even through his hearing aids, and flinched. So Phil didn't want him around anymore. A gritty burn built up behind his eyelids as he fought back the watering of his eyes. That was fine. He could deal with that. He was used to being left behind. (Had it hurt this bad when Barney had abandoned him? He didn't think it could have.) He scrawled his name on the final line and bolted for the door.  
  
Behind him, he heard Phil gasp out a hurried "No!"

A hand over his shoulder slammed the door closed before Clint had gotten it halfway open. He must have practically vaulted over his desk, Clint thought a tad hysterically.

"Clint," Phil said softly to the back of his bowed head, "look at me, please."

Clint shuffled to face him as Phil took his hand off the door. The handler took a step back and spoke again. "Article 231, section 7, clause B."

So this was what had prompted the switch, then. He'd broken some regulation and now he was paying for it. He settled into a sloppy parade rest, eyes still fixed on the floor, trying to prepare himself for a punishment he couldn't escape.

"Agents are forbidden from pursuing a relationship with anyone under their direct command." Phil waited as Clint processed this sentence slowly.  
  
"I don't understand," he replied roughly, not looking up. He hadn't been involved with anyone recently, he didn't think. There'd been a few flings, sure, throughout the years, but nothing serious; none of them were who he really wanted. Besides, he didn't exactly have anyone under his direct --  
  
"Once you finished that form, you were no longer under my direct command," Phil said gently, breaking through his thoughts.   
  
The meaning behind everything that had just happen slammed suddenly into his brain. Clint jerked his head up. "You mean --"  
  
It was Phil's turn to look away. "I know that I may still be overstepping. I'm much older than you," he said with a grimace. "I work too much and I've been losing my hair for years and I'm, well, not stellar relationship material. But I thought--" he cleared his throat, looking like a man who'd gambled his entire life on an unsure bet. "I thought the worst I could do was ask."

Clint stared at him. How could he have gotten this lucky? Of course, this could have all been avoided if he'd just sucked it up and asked Phil out himself -- yeah, he'd noticed that little loophole, there -- and he stopped thinking as Phil started retreating into his impersonal government suit facade, clearly thinking the worst. The other man turned slightly away, adjusting his cufflinks. "Please think it over and let me know what --" he started, and Clint cut him off with a hand on his wrist and a lunge to have those lips slotted underneath his. Phil tensed, then his eyes fluttered closed automatically as he relaxed into the devouring kiss. He pulled back reluctantly to ask, somewhat breathily, "That's a yes, then?"

"This isn't a joke, right? You really..." _want me,_ the voice in Clint's head finished.

"I wouldn't joke about this, I swear," Phil responded fiercely, dragging him in again for another kiss.

Clint made a mental note that maybe they both needed to work on their perceptions of self worth. Later. Maybe once he was done exploring the inside of that smile -- the one that appeared under his own as they pulled each other close.

**Author's Note:**

> First fanfic, please be nice and let me know about any errors/possible improvements. Thanks!


End file.
